


Room Left To Grow

by psyraah



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7474053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyraah/pseuds/psyraah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>University is...different, though not necessarily a bad different. After all, Tetsurou has Tooru, and most days they're good. They're great. They're studying hard, Tooru trains like crazy, and they're...fine.</p><p>But sometimes love—what's between the two of them—also needs a little bit of work, and it takes coming a little bit too close to breaking for them both to realise what's important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room Left To Grow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nishisoyabean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishisoyabean/gifts).



> For my gift exchange recipient! You mentioned a liking for fluff and college AUs, and this is indeed a college AU but not as fluffy as I had originally planned...also substantially longer than I'd originally planned. Hope you enjoy nonetheless! Title taken from John Legend's 'Ordinary People'.
> 
> Minor sads but not enough to classify as angst? Rated for mild swearing. Enjoy \ö/

The apartment was clean.

The first thing that alerted Tetsurou were the shoes. Usually a mess of sneakers, tangled laces, and Tooru’s god damn _Crocs_ (‘ _you don’t know anything about fashion, Tetsu-chan_ ’) the pairs were—well, actually _paired_ up for once, each shoe sitting neatly next to its partner, and lined up against the wall. Disturbed, Tetsurou kicked off his boots, then very deliberately left them lying haphazardly on top of the otherwise neat line. After all, there was clean, then there was downright creepy.

Satisfied, he stepped through to the dining/kitchen/general area that meant there was food, dumping his bag on a chair, and noting that all his books—usually spread out everywhere—were sitting innocently in a neat pile. The kitchen was also weirdly organised. No stray cups, not even a single dish in the sink.

“Tooru?” Tetsurou called.

“Bathroom!” came a distant reply. Well, if he was still cleaning, then Tetsurou wasn’t going to join him any time soon. Plus he was starving—he hadn’t eaten since eleven, what with the classes straight through the day, and now it was already late afternoon. He opened the fridge so he—

Okay, what the actual fuck?

“Tooru!” he called again, staring at the contents of the fridge in bewilderment.

“What?”

“What are you _doing_?”

“I’m cleaning.”

“This isn’t—I meant what the _hell_ are you doing?”

“I just told you, I’m cleaning!” came the stubborn reply, at which point Tetsurou decided that his feelings were best demonstrated practically.

Grabbing the first few boxes he could, Tetsurou marched into the bathroom, greeted by the sight of one Oikawa Tooru sitting cross-legged in front of their shower. Pink rubber gloves were pulled on over those strong fingers, and he was picking away at some brown spot—that Tetsurou was pretty sure was just the weird pattern of the tiles—hunched over next to the open shower door.

“Tooru,” Tetsurou tried again.

“See, Tetsu-chan? I’m _cleaning_.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first ten times. But what the fuck is this?” He carefully set the boxes of leftovers on the—again, uncharacteristically clutter-free—bathroom counter, and raised an eyebrow.

Tooru stared at him, doing that tiny nose scrunchy thing that meant he thought Tetsurou was being particularly dense. “Food, Tetsu-chan.”

“You put everything in Tupperware.”

“It’s cleaner than cling-wrap. And more environmentally-friendly,” he sniffed.

Tetsurou sighed. “And you organised it.”

“Well, I wasn’t just going to leave it out.”

“Tooru, it’s _colour-coordinated_.” Frustrated, Tetsurou gestured at the stack of boxes, where the boxed remains of half an omelette were sitting on top of a box of carrots, which was in turn resting on—and Tetsurou had no idea why Tooru had felt the need to box this in the _first_ place—a whole red capsicum.

“Almost as pretty as me,” Tooru said primly, before turning back to scrub at the shower.

Sighing, Tetsurou went over so he could tug gently on a lock of Tooru’s hair. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, running his fingers through brown locks.

“Nothing,” was the immediate reply. But Tetsurou knew—after the third time that this had happened—that stress cleaning wasn’t ‘nothing’.

Continuing to fluff Tooru’s hair, Tetsurou crouched down beside his boyfriend, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“How was training?” he asked neutrally.

“Good!”

Ah.

That reply had been _far_ too enthusiastic.

“Really now,” Tetsurou said, dry as anything. “Nothing new?”

“No. Nothing.”

“…Tooru.”

Tooru’s hand stilled in its determined scrubbing. “What?” he mumbled, frowning, still staring at the soapy shower tiles rather than looking at Tetsurou.

“Tooru.”

“…there’s just...a— _some_ new players,” he said eventually. “Just trying to get used to them. You know what it’s like.”

“Mmm.” That wasn’t particular satisfactory, but Tetsurou would leave it alone. For now. If Tooru didn’t want to share, it was hard to get him to talk, especially with how…tricky volleyball conversations tended to be.

So he let it slide, for the moment. There was some time tonight, he mused—assignments could wait when there was a boyfriend to be spoiled. “What about I make dinner tonight?”

Tooru spun around to face him, and almost toppled over. “It’s my turn though, I should—”

Grinning, Tetsurou stopped the protest with his lips over Tooru’s own, muffling the indignant yelp when Tooru landed on his ass.

“Mean! Mean, Tetsu, bullying poor Oikawa-san! How could you—”

“I’ll make dinner,” Tetsurou said, still grinning like an idiot, then laughing at the squawking brought on when he flicked Tooru’s nose. “It’s the least I could do after all the cleaning. Anyway, I bought curry powder just then; I was thinking we’d have it this week anyway, might as well be tonight.”

“Not sharing any food with you,” came the petulant mutter. “And Tetsu-chan, we have to run an orderly household here.” The statement was in the haughtiest of tones. Tetsurou snorted, but Tooru just ploughed on. “If you constantly abuse our chore roster, what next? Anarchy! Anarchy, and disobedience, and chaos!”

“Since when have you ever _complained_ that I was doing something for you?” Tetsurou wondered, getting to his feet. “Usually it’s something like, ‘oh, Tetsu-chan, I can’t go on,’” he mimicked, hand over his heart and eyes wide. “‘I simply must eat, else I shall starve!’ Why are you choosing _now_ to complain?”

“Tetsu-chan, surely you should’ve noticed.” Now Tooru got to his feet too, leaving the sponge to sit in the shower. Better, Tetsurou thought; if this cleaning binge was starting to die down, then it would be all right. “I _always_ complain,” Tooru said, at his sweetest, his most annoying, with that stupid glint in his eye. But that was fine, because mischievous Tooru wasn’t moping Tooru, and Tetsurou could live with that.

“Yeah, well, if you don’t shut up, I’m not gonna make you anything,” Tetsurou said, sauntering back outside, his heart swelling a little when a hand closed around his arm.

“Aw, Tetsu-chan, don’t be like that.”

“I’ll be however I wanna be.”

“Kuroo-chan, you’re meant to look after me,” Tooru whined.

“No.”

“Please?”

“I’m making my own damn curry, and you don’t get any.”

It was a miracle, really, that Tetsurou somehow managed to get back to the kitchen, what with the dead weight that was now cuddled obnoxiously around his arm, making pathetic noises. “How can you abandon me like this?”

“Easy. All I gotta do is make only enough rice for one person, then just halve everything so that you don’t get any, have just the one plate—”

“So mean!”

“—but seeing as I’m so nice, I guess I won’t,” Tetsurou finished, spinning to tug on Tooru’s ear in a practiced motion, which had him yelping and releasing Tetsurou’s arm. “Now leave me alone, and go shower in that freakishly clean bathroom of yours.”

Paying him no further attention, Tetsurou turned away so he could start preparing. The rice would need to be washed; Tetsurou could deal with that later. Then there were vegetables, maybe he could make a quick stir-fry with the boxed capsicum—oh, he’d have to go rescue that from the bathroom. Then there was that final chicken breast still left over that he could throw in there, and—

Arms snaked around his middle, and then Tooru was attached to his side, pinning Tetsurou’s arm down while he nuzzled against Tetsurou’s shoulder.

“I want to help.”

Unable to resist—really, when was he ever able?—Tetsurou turned to brush his lips against Tooru’s forehead. “You sure?”

Vigorous nodding. “Mhm!”

Sighing, Tetsurou retrieved the chicken, and shuffled away from the fridge with Tooru still attached to him. “Fine. But behave.”

The bright grin Tooru flashed up at him stole his breath.

“Of course!”

He didn’t. But Tetsurou didn’t have the heart to care.

* * *

The next couple of weeks weren’t eventful, or at least, nothing out of the ordinary. Assignments piled on, Tetsurou had to pull a few all nighters, Tooru was staying later than ever for practice, and getting up at ass o’clock, but that was…normal. Whether or not it was _healthy_ was another matter, and one which Tetsurou couldn’t find the time to figure out. No time, not with the readings and revision that had been neglected in favour of three mid-terms and two assignments, and the marks that he _couldn’t_ let fall, because there was a scholarship—an entire future—at stake. But much as they were both busy, they tried to look out for each other. Tetsurou would always have food ready if Tooru was home late, and he’d find sticky notes in odd places throughout the day, written in Tooru’s distinctive chicken scratch writing.

_Make sure to stay warm, it’s going to snow today!_

_Gummy bears in the cupboard when you get home_

_Your arms are really buff_ (ง •̀_•́)ง (that one had Tetsurou snorting in the middle of class when he’d opened up his laptop)

End story: busy, but trying to make it work, trying to stay afloat. Which was why, Tetsurou supposed, he was here, easing open the gym door to be greeted with the squeak of shoes across polished floors, and that familiar sound of haphazard _thuds_ as volleyballs struck walls, floors, trained arms. The coach of the university team was cool, and let him sit in and watch, as long as he wasn’t distracting.

When he rounded the corner to get the gym, they were in the middle of a point, voices loud, excited, focussed. Bright lights reflecting off the floor, cheers and taunts traded back and forth across the net as the ball was doing the same. Eyes glued on the action, Tetsurou sat himself down to watch the rest of it play out. The ball sailed from Tooru’s fingertips, shooting across to some spiker who was already in the air, who brought it down with a noise like a gun shot—only to have Sawamura under it, always, always ready, which Tetsurou remembered had been annoying as _fuck_.

In fact Tetsurou remembered it all—the sting of his palms and his arms, watching the surprise on an opponent’s face when they’d viciously slammed the ball down, only to watch it drop back over on their side, and that beautiful ache from diving across the floor, the pain fiercely satisfying in the knowledge that he’d saved one more ball, had given them one more shot—

Fuck, he _missed_ it so much.

 

_“You could always try a sports scholarship; you’re good.”_

_“Yeah, but I don’t know if I’m_ that _good.”_

_“Not going to try out?”_

_Tetsurou huffed a breath, and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I dunno, Kenma, it’s just…I gotta accept engineering this week, otherwise it’s gone. And if I_ can’t _get in on volleyball, then…it’s a gamble, and I don’t think...we can afford me doin’ that.”_

 

But it was fine. When there was time—rare, but over summer, or when things weren’t quite so busy—a bunch of them would meet up for a match. Tooru was always eager to play more, and Sawamura would usually let himself be roped in (under protest, more often than not due to Suga’s urging), and Kai and Yaku were both around.

All the same, it never had the same…bite. Never that same edge to competition, that high from knowing that each point was all or nothing, make or break.

But it was enough.

(It had to be.)

Still, when the setter on Sawamura’s team took the final point with a dump, there was a little ache in Tetsurou’s chest at the laughter, the cheers, and the congratulations. Tooru simply propped his hands on his hips and shook his head, ducking under the net to slap the other setter on the back and say something that Tetsurou couldn’t hear. Sawamura joined the two of them, and waved at Tetsurou, which had Tooru turning to look at him.

“Tetsu-chan, I’ll be just a minute!”

Tetsurou flashed a quick thumbs up to show that he’d heard, and just settled himself on the bench and closed his eyes a moment. There’d be a little bit of a wait, because the team still needed to warm-down, and pack everything away. Tetsurou let his mind rest, wander a little, as he listened to the sounds of the team packing up.

“Wow, Dai-chan is so strong!”

“Oikawa, _please_ just help me with the net.”

“If I didn’t have my own, gorgeous boyfriend right here with me, I might be tempted, Dai-chan.”

Tetsurou cracked open an eyelid, and did his best to glare with one eye. “Sawamura,” he called. “Stop flirting with my boyfriend.”

“He—what—I wasn’t!”

“Put a jacket on, or something,” Tetsurou continued, now sitting up and smirking.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Cover up your arms,” Tetsurou explained. “Those triceps are indecent.”

“But _so_ delicious,” Tooru said, his own grin matching Tetsurou’s even as Sawamura spluttered.

“Exactly why they’re indecent.”

“You two are a menace to society,” Sawamura finally managed. “That’s it, you’re dealing with the net yourself.” Leaving Tooru, Sawamura marched off, snagging Tetsurou’s sleeve as he did so. “And you’re coming with me so he doesn’t get in any more trouble.”

“Wait, Dai-chan—”

“Nope, not waiting,” he said, dragging Tetsurou away. Tetsurou allowed it, if only because of the indignant squawking that echoed behind them as Tooru objected to being abandoned.

“Y’know, Sawamura, if you wanted alone time with me you only had to ask,” Tetsurou said, smirking, which had the other man groaning.

“You two are just…bad,” he decided. “Just plain bad.”

“We try.”

“Go pick up a volleyball or something. I need to talk to you.”

“Like I said, all you had to do was—”

“You need to stop Oikawa from working so much.”

Tetsurou froze, halfway to crouching to grab a volleyball as he’d been instructed, and raised an eyebrow. “Stop Tooru working.”

Sawamura nodded as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “Yeah.”

“You want me to tell Oikawa Tooru to stop practicing?”

It was that sigh, Tetsurou thought—long-suffering, filled with exasperation and the weary need to do good—which had made Sawamura such an effective captain in high school. “No, not _stop_. Just…stop practicing like _this_.”

“Like what?” Tetsurou asked, slightly irritated. He scooped the ball up, bouncing it on the spot. What was he meant to do? It wasn’t like he was Tooru’s keeper, and it wasn’t like this was really _his_ world anymore, something that he could talk about.

“I get working hard,” Sawamura said, voice low. “I get it. Because we all do it, and I’m sure you do too. But Kuroo, he’s running himself into the ground because he’s scared— _that’s_ what I’m talking about.”

Tetsurou frowned. “What’s he got to be scared of?”

Whatever Sawamura said was drowned out by a cry of “Tetsu-chan, I’m done!”

“Newbies,” Sawamura muttered.

Uh oh. That didn’t sound good. Tetsurou went to ask more, but then Tooru bounded up, jacket on and bag slung over a shoulder.

“Now Dai-chan’s trying to steal _my_ boyfriend,” he said with a pout.

Sawamura opened his mouth as if to reply—but then he just sighed, and lobbed a volleyball lightly at Tooru’s face.

As expected, Tooru gasped dramatically, and _shit_ , Tetsurou in deep when he found that stupid pout and the exaggerated anger cute rather than annoying, with the puffed out cheeks and the deep frown. Not that he hadn’t already known that he was disgustingly smitten anyway.

“Dai-chan, just because you’re jealous of my good looks doesn’t mean you have to _destroy_ them. Rude!”

Sawamura just shrugged, but his mouth twitched. “Go home, Oikawa,” he said, scooping up his jacket from the floor before striding away. “Good seeing you, Kuroo.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Tetsurou watched him walk away, calling out friendly good nights to the rest of the team, before he turned back to his boyfriend—to find Tooru glaring at him, one hand on his hip and looking deeply dissatisfied. Unaffected, Tetsurou raised an eyebrow. “What’d I do?”

“You’re meant to defend me!” Tooru complained. “Your darling just got _assaulted_ with a volleyball.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Tetsurou said breezily, but then he grinned when the scowl deepened. “All right, all right, my bad,” he relented. “How about I make it up to you?”

Really, the way Tooru stuck out his lower lip even more was far from attractive. Tetsurou wanted to kiss him. “Depends how,” Tooru said sulkily.

Because Tooru was there, and Tetsurou wanted nothing else, he leaned forward to press his lips to Tooru’s own. “How about like that?”

“Mmm.” The frown remained stubbornly in place, but the pout was receding into something more a smile. “I guess.”

But from the way that Tooru’s hand slipped into Tetsurou’s, he knew he was probably forgiven.

“I’ll even walk you home,” Tetsurou offered, the two of them weaving their way out of the gym and back out into the night.

“My, my, how generous.” But now Tooru was grinning too, and Tetsurou’s heart was doing little flips in his chest at the sight.

They walked back hand in hand, quiet after a long day. The sun had set ages ago to leave stars winking in the inky black above, street lights setting a glow atop Tooru’s curls, still slightly damp with sweat. Now, out of the gym, and the adrenaline of practice, Tooru looked tired. His feet dragged on the pavement, and he was uncharacteristically quite, and Tetsurou felt a little pang of guilt that he hadn’t checked up sooner.

“Y’know,” Tetsurou said, after a few minutes of silence. “Sawamura’s worried.”

And the scowl was back. “About what?”

“How much you’re practicing.”

Tooru snorted. “Dai-chan worries _far_ too much.”

Tetsurou shrugged, and tightened his grip on Tooru’s hand. “Yeah, he does. But I’m a bit worried too,” he said quietly, a little hesitant, because the two of them were still…figuring their relationship out, and Tetsurou had no idea how to bring up something like this. They knew how to be room-mates—had done so for several months before they realised they could be something else as well—and how to be friends, but there were times when it came to this whole boyfriend, relationship thing, that Tetsurou felt a little lost. As though he were building a house of cards and the entire thing could collapse because of one ignorant move.

“I’m fine,” Tooru said immediately, but Tetsurou shook his head.

“The cleaning thing was a bit weird.”

Tooru laughed. “Is that all?”

On a sigh, Tetsurou turned his gaze to the sky. “No, it’s…kinda a lot of things.”

“Tetsu,” Tooru said, and the tone of his voice had Tetsurou looking over to him. The tiniest of smiles was painted across his mouth, his expression something soft and fond when he looked at Tetsurou. Then he leaned forward and nuzzled against Tetsurou’s shoulder, and it was such a— _sweet_ gesture, that Tetsurou wanted nothing more than to protect him, cherish him, never let him feel another moment’s strain in his life.

“I know what I’m doing,” Tooru said softly, before he leaned back, smiling reassuringly. And here, with those soft eyes on his own, and the way that Tooru’s fingers squeezed comfortingly around his own, Tetsurou almost, _almost_ , believed him.

(He ignored the tension in Tooru’s shoulders, and the dark circles under his eyes that Tetsurou could pretend not to see in the weak glow of the street lamps.)

* * *

8:52am. Tetsurou was rushing to his 9am class when his phone buzzed.

One Sawamura Daichi.

Suspecting what this was about, Tetsurou opened the message, hastily murmuring an apology as he almost bowled over a harried looking girl carrying a coffee.

_There’s a new setter_

Sawamura always did have a talent for getting right down to business. Problem often was that he lost Tetsurou along the way.

_Good for you. How does Sugawara feel about that?_

_What’s Suga got to do with it?_

Tetsurou was prepared to give it…two minutes.

Maybe three, before he realised.

(After all, this was Sawamura.)

Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds following the last message—when Tetsurou had just managed to get himself seated in the lecture theatre—his phone buzzed again.

_NO I’M NOT SAYING I HAVE A NEW SETTER. OUR TEAM. THE TEAM KUROO._

_I know_

_You’re shit_

_Language Sawamura!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Anyway_ (Tetsurou sighed at the bluntness again—didn’t this guy appreciate some good quality banter?) _about Oikawa. He’s been practicing like crazy because there’s a new setter and I think he’s afraid they’re going to replace him as a starter._

_And you know this how? He talk to you?_

The thought that Tooru might have gone to someone else stung, a little. But it was fine. Absolutely. Tooru was a grown man, and Tetsurou trusted him to handle things.

…though sometimes he did wish that it was just _easier_ for the two of them to talk, or for Tooru to give Tetsurou something to work with when he got into one of his moods. And who was Sawamura, anyway? Why would Tooru go to him and not Tetsurou?

…maybe it wasn’t as fine as Tetsurou thought.

His phone buzzed.

_Nope. Just observation. That, and when I tried to talk to him he got all………..Oikawa on me. Like how you do the deflective Kuroo thing, but with more……..Dai-chans_

Tetsurou snorted, and got a couple of weird looks from the guy sitting next to him.

_Got no idea what you’re talking bout_

_^^^^^^^^^ exactly that_

_Still dont know what youre talking about. And yeah he works hard but so does everyone_

_I *know* and like I said yesterday its not the working bit that’s bad. It’s *why* he’s working hard, which it making the work itself start to get out of control. I mean, what time did he get in today?_

_I dunno, about six? Think I woke up a bit before then and he’d already gone._

Now Tetsurou’s heart was clenching, his stomach sinking, and he was completely not paying attention to his class. Disappointment. That was what it was. Disappointment, because even now he was trying to deny it, trying to make it out to be something normal and fine because he just _didn’t know how to deal with it._ He had plenty to be worrying about already, let alone something which he wasn’t entirely sure he could fix.

And, if he was going to be honest with himself, he’d ignored it because it had hurt. At least Tooru still _had_ volleyball.

But he supposed he had to do something, and this was…a sign. Probably. Or something like that.

(Or just Sawamura’s odd need to give out life advice at least once a fortnight.)

 _Fine_ , he typed. _I’ll deal with it._

_Good_

* * *

Tetsurou had known—before the first kiss and the dates and the tentative whispers of ‘I want to try this’—that Oikawa Tooru was, in large part, an absolute child. Petty, impatient, liable to sulk at a moment’s notice. But also how wide-eyed and excited he was whenever he talked about something he loved, the dumb giggle when he wiped Nutella on Tetsurou’s nose in the mornings, only to kiss it off.

But he’d never thought that someone who was eighteen, going on nineteen soon, would _actually_ need a babysitter.

And so it was that Tetsurou found himself hanging outside one of the classrooms at six in the evening, flicking through his phone, running through the conversation with Sawamura, as he waited for Tooru to finish class. He’d messaged ahead, asking for a coffee with Tooru before practice. A short message of acknowledgement had sealed the deal, now here he was, waving as he spotted the familiar mop of brown hair in the sea of students that streamed through the doors like a flood.

There was a drag in Tooru’s steps as he approached, but he still managed a smile for Tetsurou.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” Tetsurou replied, leaning forward to press a kiss to Tooru’s forehead. Their fingers tangled together, as always, and Tetsurou led Tooru away. “How was class?”

Tooru shrugged. “Normal.” No further comments followed, which was anything but normal, but Tetsurou let it slide.

They went to one of the many cafés that dotted the campus, warm drinks in hand as they settled down at one of the tables. Conversation was stilted, a combination of their fatigue, and probably Tetsurou’s nerves. They drank in silence for a bit, and Tetsurou wondered if it was just _him_ who felt the tension in the air. Probably, seeing as Tooru was staring at his cup a little morosely, stirring at the foam absentmindedly. And it was that image—Tooru droopy, tired, so _worn_ —that had Tetsurou opening his mouth.

“Are you okay?” he blurted, suddenly enough that Tooru startled a little, eyes darting from his coffee to look at Tetsurou.

“Yes?” There was a smile, but so…small. “Why?”

“You seem…tired.” What an understatement.

Tooru shrugged, and pulled that huge smile out, the one that was too broad. The smile that was a weapon used to placate and distract, and Tetsurou _hated_ it.

“I’m pretty sure that’s just how students are.”

“No, you’re _too_ tired.”

Tooru snorted, sipping at his drink before he spoke. “I told you, I’m fine. You know I’m used to it.”

“Never like _this_. Tooru, you left before six this morning. And maybe I’d be all right with that if you hadn’t done that for the past _five days_ ,” he continued when Tooru opened his mouth, presumably to protest. “You need to _rest_.”

“Tetsu, I’ll be _fine_ ,” he insisted. “I’m just trying to work something out, and once I get it, I won’t need to do so much.”

“Will it be enough though?”

“What do you mean?” Tooru asked cautiously.

“You’re just gonna find something else to work on after this,” Tetsurou said softly, a little desperate. “Sawamura told me about your new…team mates.”

Now Tooru frowned. “What about them?”

“More than _you_ told me,” Tetsurou said, slightly irritated. “Why didn’t you say there was a new setter?”

“Why does it matter? It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing—” Tetsurou clenched his jaw, and tried to unclench his fists. “I’m worried about you; of _course_ it matters to me.”

“I told you, I’m _fine_.” The coffee cup lay abandoned, and Tooru wasn’t scowling, not anymore. No more playful sulking, just irritation rippling across the tense line of his jaw, the flexing of his fingers. “You don’t have to worry.”

“But I _am_. I know you want to be good, but you can’t just—you can’t keep doing this.” Maybe it was selfish, but seeing Tooru like this—tired, worn, running himself ragged—made Tetsurou’s heart hurt.

“It’s the only way _to do_ this,” Tooru said, voice clipped. “This isn’t high school, Tetsu.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Everyone’s _better_ now, and I have to—I have to get better, I have to work _harder_.”

“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be working hard or that this was meant to be easy. For fuck’s sake, Tooru, I’m just asking you not to kill yourself doing this!”

“You’ve never—you don’t get it!” Tooru cried.

“I’m trying to! I know it’s important to you, all right?” Tetsurou tried to stay calm, _reasonable_ , because Tooru was tired. Tooru was tired, which meant he was grumpy, and on edge, and—fuck it, _so was Tetsurou_ , but one of them had to stay calm. “I know it’s important, but you’ve gotta—”

“I don’t know what it’s like to be Kuroo Tetsurou, not caring if you win or lose, okay?” The words were an ugly snarl, ripping viciously through Tetsurou’s heart, but Tooru kept going. “I don’t know what it’s like to just be able to give up and not even _try_ to keep going.”

Everything froze.

_“Kuro, you’re not going to try?”_

Time.

_Tetsurou smiled sadly. “Can’t afford it.”_

Tetsurou’s blood.

 _“My_ parents _can’t afford it.”_

His stupid, lovelorn heart.

_“But Kuro, they’d understand.”_

“What?” His ears were ringing. Surely, that hadn’t—Tooru hadn’t brought _that_ up…

_“I can’t do that to them, just because I want to play.”_

But by Tooru’s sudden look of shock, then the quick flash of guilt lighting up dark brown eyes, that had been exactly what he’d meant.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, forget it—”

“No, _what did you say_?” Tetsurou forced out between gritted teeth.

“I’m not—I didn’t meant—it’s just, you can’t—Tetsu, you’re just…not playing, right now so it’s…just—”

“Right,” Tetsurou interrupted. “I guess I’ll leave you alone then. Seeing as I can’t _understand_ anything anymore.” The words were stray bullets, fired out sharp and uncaring. Shoving himself up from the table, he grabbed his bag and strode away angrily, ignoring the call of his name.

But he couldn’t ignore the hand which closed around his arm to yank him back.

“Tetsu, _wait_.”

“Fuck off,” he growled, shaking Tooru off. “Just…fuck right off. I need to get my stupid, non-understanding, non-volleyball playing ass out of here, all right?”

“Tetsu, I’m sor—”

“Don’t wanna hear it,” he snapped. “Don’t want any of it. You can go do your Oikawa Tooru thing then, drive yourself fuckin’ crazy, see if I care. Not like I’d get anything, because I don’t work hard, _ever_.”

“Tetsu, that’s not what I meant!”

Tetsurou laughed bitterly. “No, it’s not, but it’s what I’m getting. Nothing’s as important as volleyball. Well that’s fuckin’ _great_ and _fine_ when you can afford that, except I couldn’t, all right? You _know_ fuckin’ well that I couldn’t, I _can’t_ , but—fuck, do you know how much I’ve been working these past couple of weeks?”

This wasn’t Tooru. Tooru was bright and loud and _big_ , not this tired, worn creature, looking at Tetsurou with his big sorrowful eyes and quivering mouth. “Tetsu, I _know_. I _know_ you’ve been working hard, I’m sor—”

“No, _you’re_ the one who doesn’t get a thing, Oikawa.” Hitching his bag further up his shoulder with shaking fingers, Tetsurou fought not to scream.

“Enjoy your fuckin’ practice.”

* * *

The apartment was quiet when Tooru got back.

Or maybe it just felt that way because _he_ felt like he should be quiet, and every footstep instead sounded like a trumpet call, announcing his arrival and his _shame_.

The feeling only multiplied by a hundred when he stepped through the door, and the light in the dining room was on. When pressed a few months ago, Tetsu had said that it was so he himself didn’t trip on any of the ten volleyballs that Tooru had lying around at any given time, but Tooru knew that it was for him, with his late nights, and early mornings.

For him, as was the bowl of noodles that sat on the table, a pair of chopsticks sitting next to it.

There was a lump in Tooru’s throat.

Dinner. His boyfriend had made him dinner. After all the ugly crap that he’d yelled today, all the stress and worry he’d put him through these past couple of weeks, how he’d dragged his feet and avoided coming home until the very last second, and there was _still_ a bowl of noodles waiting for him when he eventually did get home.

But this time, there wasn’t a note next to it, detailing Tetsu’s plans for the evening, or a neatly printed ‘good night, I love you’. There wasn’t anything there, and the void echoed that in Tooru’s own heart.

Practice had been terrible. He’d been distracted, mind not at all on the court, and seeing the new setter across the net—focussed, form so _clean_ and _perfect_ —hadn’t done anything for his mood. He needed…to just stop. He needed time to himself, he needed a fucking _break_ , needed to stop seeing giants in prodigies and competition, and…Tetsu. He needed Tetsu.

Dinner could wait.

The light in Tetsu’s old room was on, weak white light leaking through the gap underneath the door. They didn’t use it much, not since the two of them had started dating and Tetsu had essentially just inserted himself in Tooru’s own room instead, claiming it to be ‘better positioned.’ But there was still a bed in there, and Tooru didn’t want to think about how Tetsurou might prefer sleeping alone tonight.

Easing his shoes off, Tooru dumped his bag on the floor and padded over to the door. Steeling himself, he knocked on the door.

Nothing.

“Tetsu?” he tried, a little hesitant.

“…yeah.”

Tooru cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”

There was a moment of silence, and Tooru could almost see the way Tetsurou’s brow furrowed when he thought, his shoulders shrugging when he came to a decision. “If you want.”

Gently, he eased the door open and stepped inside.

Tetsurou was at the desk, scribbling away at something, laptop open in front of him, his head propped up on his free hand. The light was dim, the glow from the laptop illuminating Tetsurou’s fingers which were curled around the pen. He looked…Tooru didn’t want to say tired, because that didn’t cover it. The hunch of his shoulders, and the furrows in his hair from where long fingers had raked through it continuously, spoke of something more than just simply being _tired_.

Still tentative, Tooru approached, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Hey.” His greeting sounded far too loud in the quiet. Intrusive and unwelcome in the way it caused Tetsurou’s mouth to twitch, and his pen to stop writing.

“Hi,” Tetsurou said, not looking up. The word was short, clipped, and nothing else. No asking how training had been, worrying if he’d eaten yet, or telling him that the toothbrush had been changed because he himself had forgotten.

But he did put his pen down, and Tooru took that as a good sign.

“Thanks for cooking.”

Tetsurou shrugged. “What d’you want?”

Right. No time for small talk.

But Tooru couldn’t figure out how to do any _big_ talk. Not when everything was such a huge, messed-up jumble that Tooru had no idea how to begin untangling. The two of them, the practice and nerves and the _fear_ from volleyball, and his words earlier that day—harsh, and too cruel.

That was probably where he should start.

“I’m sorry.” No reaction, so he ploughed on. “For what I said earlier.”

Tetsurou stopped pretending to study entirely, and instead just collapsed on the desk, head on his arms. He was finally, _finally_ looking at Tooru now, and his expression wasn’t impassive or cold, as Tooru had expected it to be.

He looked so _hurt_.

“Did you mean it, though?” The words were muffled slightly against the crook of Tetsurou’s arm, but Tooru heard clearly enough.

“I…” Tooru trailed off. Tetsurou’s eyes were boring into his own, demanding honesty, and Tooru owed it to him to give him that honest answer. Rushing into it wouldn’t help either of them; that was what had gotten them here in the first place, harsh words that hadn’t been thought out, and rash reactions. So Tooru took a moment to think. To wonder—if he hadn’t meant the words, then where had they come from?

Somewhere else. Obviously. Somewhere else, that needed to be loved, but was far too afraid of how fragile love and respect could be.

“No,” he said eventually. “I didn’t.”

Tetsurou sat up, and swallowed. “Then why did you say it?”

Tooru hesitated. But Tetsurou’s eyes were still on his, wide and vulnerable, demanding an answer. “I think sometimes…I’m afraid you _won’t_ understand.” He smiled weakly. “And if you don’t, then I don’t have anyone else to talk to about this. So it’s just…easier to jump the gun, and get to the bit where I deal with it by myself.”

When Tetsurou raised an eyebrow, the familiar motion had something inside Tooru relaxing.

They’d be okay.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” he said quietly. Hoping it was okay, he closed the remaining distance between them in a few steps, and gently settled his hand in Tetsurou’s hair. When the other man didn’t pull away from the contact, Tooru’s heart finally released the pent-up, anxious breath it had been holding in for hours. “I’m sorry.”

With Tooru’s fingers combing gently through his hair, Tetsurou closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, leaning into Tooru. “All right.”

Tooru’s heart leapt. “It’s all right?”

“Yeah.” Tetsurou’s voice was tired, but now he was nuzzling against Tooru’s hip a little. “Just…don’t shut me out because of that. Please.” The words were quiet and a little desperate, still a little hurt, and Tooru kept carding his fingers softly through Tetsurou’s hair in silent apology. “I know I don’t play anymore, but just…I’m still here. I’m still me, and I’ve still got your back, but just—fuck, _please_ don’t use that.”

“I’m sorry.” Torn, Tooru turned so he could pull Tetsurou close, hold him safe in his arms, because he hadn’t realised how much his words had hurt them _both_. “I know you support me and I’m really, _really_ grateful for it, and I know what I said was…horrible.” God, he never wanted to let go. He never wanted to lose the feeling of Tetsurou bringing his arms up to wrap tight around his waist, of Tetsurou’s fingers clinging to the back of his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

They stayed like that, for a while, holding each other, Tooru playing with the ends of Tetsurou’s wild hair. Gradually, Tetsurou’s breathing evened out, and the tension left his shoulders, and after a while, he raised his head to catch Tooru’s eye.

“Sleep?”

It was only now that Tooru saw that his eyes were a little red around the edges, a bit puffy, and his heart hurt. Skimming a thumb gently under one eye, he leaned down to kiss Tetusurou’s forehead. “Yeah, you need to sleep.”

“Like you can talk,” Tetsurou grumbled, getting to his feet and stretching exaggeratedly, though one arm still remained wrapped around Tooru’s middle. And with Tooru’s arm still slung around Tetsurou’s shoulders, that was how they made their way back to their room, stumbling a little, but together, and perfect in how they leaned against each other.

“Let’s…spend some time together tomorrow,” Tooru suggested as they tucked themselves under the sheets. “If you’re not too busy.”

Tetsurou’s eyes widened for a moment, before it softened into a smile. “I’m not. I’d like that.”

“And…can I talk to you about some stuff then, as well?”

Lying down on the bed, Tetsurou tugged on Tooru’s hand, and Tooru clambered into the bed to join him. “Always,” he said quietly, and his eyes were soft, and loving, and Tooru let out a happy little sigh when Tetsurou pulled him closer to press his lips to brown hair.

“I’ll talk to you in the morning then. Night, Tooru.”

Guilt surfaced, just for a moment, with its insistent beat of _you should be working_.

But he buried it as quickly as possible, forgot about it in the warmth of Tetsurou pressed against him, of a strong arm slung around his waist, and the light clicked off.

“Tetsu,” he whispered.

“Nnnn.”

“Your hair’s tickling me.”

Tetsurou groaned, and shifted so his hair was no longer lying all over Tooru’s face.

“S’better?”

“Yeah.” The wind rustled the leaves outside, and a car whooshed past. “Tetsu,” he whispered again, and the long-suffering sigh, the _affection_ there, was what he lived for.

“What?”

Tooru breathed in Tetsurou’s scent, and moved to lay his ear over Tetsurou’s beating heart.

“I love you.”

Fingers carded through Tooru’s hair, lazy, soft, loving. “Love you back. Now shut up and go to sleep.”

“Mmm.” Tooru smiled in the dark, and snuggled in closer. “Night, Tetsu-chan.”

This—the two of them, together, legs tangled beneath the sheets—this needed work too. It needed practice and patience just as much as anything else.

So with Tetsurou’s deepening breaths fluttering light against his skin, Tooru closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing this pairing, and only second time writing Haikyuu really, so I hope you enjoyed it! please do let me know what you thought :)
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.psyraah.tumblr.com)


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